High Speed Rotary Biomedical Equipment and Other Noises That Can Cause Cardiological Disruption

Refer to "A Shadow Dream Named Vorg" for Torque's first appearance. You were depressed at the time of reading that one, so don't feel like you're inadequate or whatever. Remember everyone: it's your responses that pay for me to live. Keep in mind that next time you refuse to post I may be one step closer to the grave via starvation or crushed heart.

But now here I am (I am here), getting the procedure as required by the new program, or progrum as Uncle would call it. In a moment of reassurance, I remind myself that the pamphlet and video spoke only of how this procedure is indexed: “thought pattern, uncontrolled, enthusiasm.” Also lemonade and snacks would be served afterwards.

Mr. Torque places the electrodes on my head. They played music, Iron Maiden’s “The Clairvoyant” to be exact. Fitting maybe, but it didn’t cease to remind me of the time I had awkward sexual encounters with my newest girlfriend in the mid-80s while I challenged style with my new denim dream sweater and hat. The music made me wonder if these were electrodes at all, but I wasn’t willing to question at the time. I can’t speak when I can’t hear myself speak. That’s no joke. I enjoyed the music briefly, but decided to show emotion as the Doctor stood over me with his brooding gray eyes and placed a heavy steel rail on my stomach. The cold steel was rough and taught me a hard lesson. He again motioned to the mirror, this time with a crossed-arm sign and a double hand spin. He then spoke some words with disgust and jammed some pork rinds in his mouth as far as I could tell. Doctors always practice what they preach, I realized after seeing the “pork, it’s what’s for dinner” poster on the wall. All of the wall illustrations were familiar to me now and I knew that if I ever had children, motherly love would be forced upon them daily as to reduce inner ear smelling and weeping. The ointment was used on the rail at this point and then some menthol rub was placed on my neck covered by a handkerchief. I assumed the heavy rail would cause me to breath in hard, taking in the full menthol flavor, followed by soothing music; all assistance in my eventual benevolent transformation. I still feared the shock, but not to the same extent that would cause the colon troubles or shaky fingers and shrieking. I felt my internal bowel twitch trigger the external signal.

A long time back the normal method for this type of transformation included a rod and a good hammer, and/or rigorous, life-long programming (non-digital), with synthesizers, crude spinning machines and whistle towers. Technology has replaced old fashioned joint power. Torque knew of the old ways, as his name suggests, but wasn’t afraid of instrumentation. Maybe he could set up my home computer once I obtained the required funds to buy a used one from that little Latvian man that runs the revamp shop. I’ve heard that one can make greeting cards with a type of machine that possesses such power, and newer versions allow insertion of special digital image works. The Latvian also specializes in anger and wrath at the front counter; something I would have to consider before I even think about putting up the required funds for new machines. I know I should have been more cautious the last time I decided to browse his shelves. I made the delinquent mistake of eating a whole lot of penny gumballs prior to entering, only to have him rub his forehead, sigh, turn the lights off in the store, move towards the door deliberately, lock the door, then stand really close to me while breathing around my eyebrow. He’s shaped like a carving fork: lanky from the floor to the mid-flank, with brooding shoulders and a hunched head. Tall. The metaphorical fork points on his head were used on me why? I had disobeyed the Latvian technology creed I had – no sticky candy and treats by the electronic treasures, even if you purchased them for a great price, even if you purchased them in bulk and would swallow them to feel your appetite had been momentarily satiated. In exchange for my release he made me purchase an Apple IIE with a double floppy and a printing device that would cause rabid animals to eat children faster than normal. He made a small boy in the back gift wrap it for me. While I waited he made me watch sports bloopers and laugh. I later realized the computer was very useful for typing long messages to myself only to have the computer continually explain to me that they were not proper syntax. In retrospect, it contributed to my demise and current position.

Now I opened my eyes. Ten minutes couldn’t have passed, but the situation had changed. Dr. T had a presence nearby. His had a mischievous look on his face that was all too familiar. The button near the door on the wall was pressed by and words were had with the speaking device. Torque quickly removed his finger from the button and laughed into the sterile air, at the unnecessarily bright light in the mid-ceiling. He opened the cupboard and took out his best werewolf mask. It appeared to be of high quality; maybe composed of real hair. It was of such quality, in fact, that it took much effort to put on; it fit his slightly round face so well. He slid up against the wall and waited for the door to open at which point he hopped out with arms spread in the most threatening position. The guest jumped up and screamed, I think. This was followed by intense laughter, back patting, and hair rustling. I guess there was a good time to be had. Currently my own breathing was becoming more labored. The rail was taking its toll.